


honey drip; sweet and easy

by goodnightpuckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha Sidney Crosby, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Evgeni Malkin, Scent Marking, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightpuckbunny/pseuds/goodnightpuckbunny
Summary: The inside of the car is hot. Someone should crack a window. Instead, Zhenya curls closer to Sid’s side.“Did you hear me?”“Hm?” Zhenya rubs his cheek against Sid’s hair. It’s damp and curling, almost soft.Sid huffs, sending fresh eddies of his scent whirling. “I asked why your heat suppressants stopped working.”





	honey drip; sweet and easy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to friends for inspiring me with their filthy, beautiful ideas.
> 
> I wrote this fic fueled by spite and caffeine.

—71—

There’s no way to determine what triggers it, and it comes on so subtly that Zhenya doesn’t spare it much thought at first. During the game against Montréal, it begins with a swelling nausea. His mouth fills with saliva and his stomach quivers with a rolling tide. It’s probably just hunger, he reasons. It’s been a rough game and he hasn’t eaten for a while. He demolishes an energy bar from Stewart in two big bites and then swings his legs over the boards for his shift.

After he’s scored, and they’ve won, and the buzzer has blared, the feeling becomes more stark. A fever follows him into the showers, where he cranks the tap to cold and still his skin radiates heat. He thinks he might start putting off steam.

Zhenya sits in his stall with his shirt off, trying to cool down. The back of his neck is _tingling_ and he feels this yawning emptiness inside. The guys around him are talking, but he can’t gather the focus to even translate, let alone converse. He gulps cold water from the cooler. When he throws the empty plastic bottle at the trash bin, it bounces off the wall and rolls away.

Maybe he can get in an ice bath back at the hotel. Or should he just face-plant into the nearest snow bank?

He’s so dizzy.  

“Geno,” he hears someone snap like they’ve been calling him a few times. Zhenya raises his head with no small amount of effort. Stewart is standing above him. He sniffs, and frowns. “Think you’re going into heat, buddy,” he says gently.

It takes a moment to parse the sentence. Then Zhenya scowls—all he has energy for. “I’m suppress,” he replies.

So much for trained medical staff. This is clearly some kind of stomach virus because Zhenya _can't_ go into heat. If he waits around the room any longer, he might start passing it on to other guys.

“I’m sick,” Zhenya tries to tell Stewart, but he’s already gone. He watches Stewart walk over, unbelievably, to Sid.

Irritation flashes through Zhenya. He doesn’t need his captain to deal with him, when their equal stubbornness will just serve to frustrate each other. He needs a _doctor_. Anyways, Zhenya is a grown man. He can manage his own fucking illness. But whatever Stewart says to Sid, his face goes shocked, then concerned, and then determined, so there’s no choice now. Sid will _handle_ him.

Wonderful.

Sometimes Zhenya didn’t know where the alpha in Sid ended and where the captain began. Perhaps they were the same thing.

Sid comes over, heedless of all the daggers Zhenya tries to throw with his glare. “Doing okay?” He asks, all caution.

“Fine,” Zhenya snaps. Sid can be so annoying.

“Stew thinks you’re uh,” he licks his lips, subtly scenting the air. Fuck him. “In a bad way, maybe—jeez, he could be right.”

Zhenya snorts and looks away, but then Sid lays his hand on the back of Zhenya’s neck and the sensation crawling across his fevered skin recedes like a pot of boiling water taken off the fire.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, at least,” offers Sid.

“I have flu,” Zhenya smacks Sid’s proprietary hand away. “You get too.”

Sid ignores him. “We can get a car right away, c’mon.”

Traffic is more than a little congested after a hockey game. Their hotel is close but they still get stuck for long, uncomfortable minutes. The back of the town car fills with Sid’s scent. He didn’t get the chance to shower before he hustled Zhenya out of the rink, and now the smell of sweat and wet wool and dark chocolate is so thick that he can taste it. He loves Sid like this, smelling of hard work. Zhenya leans in closer to the source.

Alright, so maybe he _is_ in heat.

“Why aren’t your suppressants working?” Sid asks, his voice very far away.

Sid was always so calm about everything. He’d tangled in the sheets of nearly every omega he’d met—save for Zhenya—and it barely phased him. Despite all the different omega-scents that Sid had come into the locker room wearing, Zhenya had never even caught a _whiff_ of his rut. It was what Zhenya dreamed about all too often. He wanted Sid to prowl around him and mark him with his scent. The smell would probably be a lot like what was wafting off Sid right now, with less salt and more earthiness.

Still, Zhenya had no idea. Sid was sealed up tight behind his layers of earnest professionalism.

 _I can crack him_ , Zhenya thinks. It’s a dangerous idea.

The inside of the car is hot. Someone should crack a window. Instead, Zhenya curls closer to Sid’s side.

“Did you hear me?”

“Hm?” Zhenya rubs his cheek against Sid’s hair. It’s damp and curling, almost soft.

Sid huffs, sending fresh eddies of his scent whirling. “I asked why your heat suppressants stopped working.”

“They work,” Zhenya says.

“No, they—” Sid leans forward abruptly, and Zhenya’s head slips. The scent is even stronger behind Sid’s ear. “Can you pull around back? I don’t want to go in the front. Thanks.”

“ _Sid_ ,” Zhenya complains. He’s so hot. He’s nothing but steam.

Sid pats his arm. “I know, bud. It’ll be alright. We’ll get you inside.”

Zhenya doesn’t want to wait, though. He wants—well. He licks Sid’s neck, quick enough that he thinks it’ll escape notice, but Sid stops breathing for a moment anyways. Zhenya is only stopped from doing it again by the car coming to a halt. The taste of bitter chocolate lingers on his tongue.

He clings as Sid hauls him inside the hotel.

The last time Zhenya had a natural heat was when he was seventeen. At that point, he had been convinced that he was a beta like the rest of his family, and comfortable with the dynamic neutrality it offered him. Then the fevers had started and he began dripping like an upturned bottle of honey. _Late to bloom_ , his mama had clucked.

Zhenya had sweat through his first heat, helpless to the whims of his body. It was the embarrassment with which he remembered the horrible week of desperation that kept him on suppressants now.  His doctor in Russia and his endocrinologist in Pittsburgh both assumed he took a break from his pills during the break in the season, but Zhenya couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was nothing wrong with being heat-suppressed full-time. He needed the control over his body and mind.

He isn’t absent-minded now as he leans heavily into Sid’s side. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like being mildly drunk or netting a sweet goal; he was aware of himself, just far less prone to listen to the part of his brain devoted to keeping him from doing something stupid.

And trying to seduce Sid is _beyond_ stupid, certainly.  Yet here he is, scenting Sid in the beige hallway of a Montréal hotel. The building could crumble around them and Zhenya would hardly notice.

Sid slips his hand into Zhenya’s pocket, and Zhenya whimpers. “Calm down, I just need your key,” Sid complains, but his voice warbles.

Zhenya crowds Sid against the door. Sid is wearing too many clothes. His neck is great, but Zhenya wants to get at other parts of him. He’s never touched Sid’s bare thighs before, and now that seems like a huge oversight. They’re right _there_ , all the time, huge and powerful, and Zhenya has seen them do all kinds of good work. He can only speculate on what else they can accomplish.

The door beeps. “ _Oh thank God_ ,” Sid says, and pushes through. He pries Zhenya away and Zhenya lets himself be moved a cool few feet away. Sid is flushed across his cheeks and down his neck. “Alright, are you good now? I’ll just,” he jerks a thumb at the door slowly swinging closed, “uh, head out. Call me if you need anything, eh?”

All the tingling washes over his skin like a wave, and Zhenya is boiling over again. What, Sid thinks he can handle this on his own? That he’ll sweat it out alone in this hotel room for _days_ by himself? Zhenya thought they were a team—that they had each other’s backs.

“I’m in heat, Sid,” Zhenya tries for frustrated and lands in plaintive, pleading. “Help me.”

For a moment, Sid’s eyes go dark and possessive. _Yes,_ Zhenya thinks. But as the storm cloud passes over the sunlight, Sid’s face clears. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sure.” And this is the point, Zhenya supposes, where the omega goes pliant. He should be bending for Sid, offering his neck, his wrists, his belly, his holes. Instead he stands, looming as best he can because he needs this, and he doesn’t want Sid to think it’s only because of the heat. Zhenya clenches his fists. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Sid sighs, steps closer, slides up against Zhenya. “Yeah,” he says again, his breath against Zhenya’s mouth. And then Sid kisses him.

It’s brief, a _hello_ , but it still makes slick trickle down the inside of Zhenya’s leg.

“Christ,” Sid mutters, and kisses Zhenya once more. It’s still quick, not enough time for Zhenya to kiss back. “You can tell me no,” Sid says lowly, turning his face to kiss the corner of Zhenya’s mouth instead. “Anytime you want me to stop, I will.”

As if Zhenya was going to refuse him now.

“I usually talk about this more, beforehand.” Sid wraps one arm around Zhenya’s waist, a hug they’ve had a thousand times from a slightly different angle. “You know, what you like, what _I_ like,” he kisses Zhenya’s jaw and chin. “But, uh, you just tell me if there’s something I’m doing wrong. Or if there’s something that hurts you. I know we’re both probably likely to ignore pain, but it’s important that—”

“Don’t make complicate,” Zhenya interrupts. “Is just sex.”

Sid pinches him below his ribs. “I’m being thoughtful, you asshole. I don’t know how you like your summer heats, okay? So you have to tell me when I guess wrong.”

Zhenya has no basis for comparison, and doesn’t want Sid to start guessing _that_. He knows what kind of sex he likes. Heat sex isn’t going to be any different.

He kisses Sid to shut him up, but Sid just pulls away. “You promise you’ll tell me?”

“Okay,” he agrees. Sid can run his mouth as much as he wants once he’s inside Zhenya. “I’m easy, Sid, come on.”

He lets Sid pop the button and pull down the zipper of his pants. He can barely breathe. “You want it,” says Sid. Zhenya nods. His knees shake, so before he topples over, he pushes down his pants. They get stuck around his ankles, tangle with his shoes, and he has to shuffle backwards to the bed, pulling Sid along by the lapels of his coat.

His pants come off more easily once he sits down; he smears slick all over the nice white hotel blanket. Sid takes off his coat and hangs it on the back of the one chair in the room. He’s still wearing his stupid hole-ridden base layer shirt. Half of his collarbone is exposed through a rip that hasn’t been sewn up yet.

Sid undresses with focused efficiency while Zhenya only has the energy to shake off his own jacket. Then he tells Zhenya to turn over.

Zhenya lets himself be moved; Sid shucks off the blanket, pushes him up the bed, shoves a pillow under his hips, and spreads his legs wide. Zhenya shivers. Finally, _finally_ , he gets to have Sid. He doesn’t have to be jealous of every other omega who passes Sid’s gaze anymore.

Sid squeezes his ass, pulls his Zhenya’s cheeks open, and licks over his hole.

“ _Sid_ ,” Zhenya snaps, even as he’s helpless but to push back into Sid’s face. He’s wet enough and doesn’t need the foreplay.

He gets ignored. Sid licks him again and hums, sounding pleased.

Fucking Sid, generous to a fault.

“Relax,” Sid suggests, as if he wasn’t asking for the impossible.

As he licks, Zhenya can feel his hole soften, opening up. Sid’s tongue slips inside, and he keeps making delighted noises. Zhenya feels like liquid, melting away from a single point. He feels sloppy all over. And when Zhenya feels like he’s drowning in the sensation of wave after lapping wave of Sid’s tongue, _that’s_ when Sid doubles his efforts.

Sid is so _good_ with his mouth.

Zhenya tries to squirm against the pillow. He needs some relief from the onslaught, but Sid barely lets him move. His dick rubs against the fabric and Sid just keeps following him down.  Zhenya is groaning—something. It’s mostly unintelligible, he thinks, but he moans Sid’s name once or twice. He doesn’t know whether to beg or demand. His body is crying out to be filled, to let the alpha in his bed claim him, but Sid just keeps teasing.

His need crests and breaks as Sid pushes his tongue in deep, and Zhenya yelps as he comes between Sid and the pillow, shallow and unsatisfying.

He cups himself, still half-hard, and rolls onto his back.

Sid kneels up. His mouth and chin is covered in Zhenya’s slick, shining with it in the dim of the room. He licks his lips, a heavy, contented look in his eyes. Zhenya glances down, hoping that this won’t be all there is, but Sid is soft. There’s a wet smudge of come on his stomach.

Zhenya’s throat feels thick. His fever returns with a vengeance.

Now that he’s come, Sid will leave. He’ll let Zhenya sweat out the rest of this hell in fucking Montréal while he gets back on the road with the team. And then after he’ll be sweetly supportive, and ask Zhenya if he’s okay, and he won’t even chirp Zhenya for coming on his tongue.

He’ll go, and things will be the same way as they always were because Sid is too good to let something like sex ruin their friendship. It will just be Zhenya always wanting and always embarrassed by it. He’ll get his suppressants fixed and the season will carry on. In the summer, Zhenya will be in Moscow while Sid fucks half of his hometown during his rut.

Zhenya wishes Sid would ruin things between them instead. He wants everything to crumble so they can rebuild from the wreckage.

He feels Sid slipping all the time, the older they get. They’re stronger than they’ve ever been, and yet—they’ll retire and let the communication between them slip away. All of this will become a fond but distant memory.

Zhenya feels the corners of his eyes prickle. He swallows the tears for later; rolls the emotion into a hard marble of pain and tucks it away. “Heat not done,” he says instead.

Sid cringes. “I know, bud. You smell pretty desperate.” He knees forward, crawling over Zhenya and unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.  “Here,” he says, “take this off. You look really red.”

He peels off Zhenya’s sweaty shirt. He’s careful not to press himself to Zhenya, but still strokes down his side. Sid kisses him for longer this time. He doesn’t let it go deep. Sid is so calm now, and it’s fucking frustrating because Zhenya is still falling apart. He’s aware of every time Sid skirts the bruises left by Zhenya’s chest guard. He feels it every time Sid breathes.

Sid cradles his jaw, kisses him one last time, and then starts scooting back down the bed.

Zhenya whines. Sid is going to pack himself up and leave now.

“Shh, G, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Sid’s hand wraps around Zhenya’s cock with no fuss. He pumps his grip half a dozen times. “Let me—let me, okay?”

He doesn’t know what the fuck Sid is talking about, until suddenly Sid has swallowed his cock to the hilt. Zhenya shouts, and thrusts his hips up. Sid chokes and pulls off.

“Geno,” Sid complains, and coughs.

“Sorry,” Zhenya apologizes. “You’re not warn me.”

“I _did_ ,” says Sid.

In what _universe—_

“Let me blow you, Geno. I want to.” Then he admits: “I love it.”

Zhenya just nods, beyond words, the Sid between his thighs suddenly reflecting the Sid of all his fantasies who always goes to his knees so easily and opens his mouth with an unspoken plea. Zhenya has to hold on to something, so he reaches for the sheets. When Sid sucks him back down, he twists his hands in them hard enough for one of the corners to come off its anchor.

Sid takes him _deep_. He groans every time Zhenya’s cock gets to the back of his mouth.

He pulls off, slow, sucking hard. “Can I use my fingers, too?” he asks, voice rough.

“Yes,” Zhenya says.

Sid nods, and slips a finger in. Zhenya is so wet and open and ready that it slides all the way inside with no resistance at all. “Oh,” says Sid, “you can probably take two.”

He doesn’t wait for Zhenya to confirm this time. He pulls out and pushes both in at the same time. It feels _right_ , but so far from enough. Zhenya twists down, pushing for more.

“No, you have to stay still,” Sid lectures, and presses Zhenya’s legs up over Sid’s shoulders so he has no leverage.

Zhenya groans. He can’t watch Sid, so focused, like he’s trying to win a fucking faceoff.

Sid twists and scissors his fingers. He lights Zhenya up from the inside, adds another finger, and tries to suck Zhenya’s soul out through his dick. Three fingers aren’t enough, though. He wants Sid’s cock; his big alpha knot.

“Fuck me,” Zhenya whines.

Sid sucks harder and hums. Desperation rises in Zhenya again, bubbling and inevitable.

He doesn’t want to come on Sid’s fingers. He wants to come with Sid inside him, locked in tight, committed to him if only for a while. But he doesn’t get what he wants. Sid curls his fingers and before he can even warn Sid, Zhenya is coming on the back of his tongue. It still doesn’t soothe the ache in him. The need still nags at him.

Zhenya is too tired to protest. He lets Sid lower his legs back to the bed and stares at the ceiling until it goes blurry.

It must be something wrong with Zhenya himself, if Sid won’t fuck him.

All those other omegas haven’t been anything like Zhenya. They’ve been demure and delicate and doe-eyed—everything that Zhenya _can't_ be, and wouldn’t want to be anyways. Zhenya is an athlete. He’s proud of his accomplishments. He likes being able to stand as Sid’s equal.

If Sid has a type, and Zhenya doesn’t fit? That’s too bad.

“Geno?” Sid leans up over him. Zhenya blinks him into focus. “What’s wrong? You’re crying.”

Zhenya sniffs and wipes his cheeks. “Not.”

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine!” Zhenya barks. “Just emotions, Sid.”

Sid purses his lips.

“It’s stupid, okay? Don’t ask me.”

“Okay,” Sid sighs. He probably won’t let it go, but Sid has always respected that Zhenya will pick and choose which feelings he’ll share. Sid won’t bring it up again for a while.

Sid does lie down next to him, though. He wipes Zhenya’s slick off on the sheets. He cards through Zhenya’s hair with one hand, and cradles his jaw with the other. It’s nice—it’s meant to be calming—but Zhenya can’t help the way he feels. Hopefully this heat will be over soon and he can get a grip on himself, but if Sid won’t knot him, it could last for a week at least.

“Do you want me to stop?” Sid whispers.

“No,” says Zhenya. He still wants as much as Sid will give him.

Sid rearranges them so Zhenya is on his side, and pushes his thigh between Zhenya’s. It’s thick enough that Zhenya has to move half on top of Sid so his leg doesn’t get squished against the bed. And then the angle is too good. In a moment he’s riding Sid’s thigh with little twitches of his hips.

“There you go,” Sid murmurs, and kisses Zhenya’s cheek.

Zhenya turns his head and kisses Sid properly, with tongue like a reasonable person would. Sid makes a surprised little noise. It sends a little thrill of accomplishment through Zhenya, so he keeps at it.

Sid’s hand trails up Zhenya’s side, and then his thumb traces Zhenya’s nipple. He’s gentle, circling around. Zhenya practically purrs into Sid’s mouth. His nipples aren’t usually sensitive like they are right now.

He breaks away from his kiss, running out of air. “Good,” he says on an exhale.

“Yeah?” Sid asks, looking hopeful. He sticks his thumb into his red, red mouth, and brings it back wet to circle Zhenya’s nipple again.

“Yeah.”

Then Sid pushes, rubs hard, and Zhenya cries out, grinds his cock onto Sid’s thigh.

“You really like it.” Sid smiles. “You do that to yourself?” He keeps the pressure up, and it _hurts_ , but it also feels good. It’s like it’s winding something up inside him.

“No, never, I—” Zhenya thrusts against Sid’s thigh, his slick easing the way as it drips from his hole, “Feels better with you.”

Sid groans. “Okay, yeah.” He pinches and when that draws a cry from Zhenya, Sid ducks his head and _bites_.

It yanks the orgasm out of Zhenya, and he claws his hands into Sid’s hair to keep his mouth right there until his climax rolls through him. Even after, Sid licks Zhenya’s nipple in apology before he pulls back up and gives Zhenya another kiss.

Zhenya sighs and drops his head back onto the bed. He’s exhausted. He feels himself drifting.

“Stay,” he says as Sid maneuvers him again.

“Of course,” Sid replies, and presses his lips to Zhenya’s temple as he begins to drift off into a restless sleep.

The first time Zhenya wakes up, hard and leaking, he shoves his fingers inside himself. When Sid smells him and wakes up, he reasons, his hole will be open and ready for Sid’s knot. He’ll just have to slide in and pin Zhenya to the bed with his weight.

But Sid just sleeps on, breathing deeply, with one arm draped over Zhenya’s waist. So Zhenya comes on his own fingers, glaring in frustration at Sid’s face. He collapses back into sleep after smearing some of his slick on Sid’s neck. At least he could have the decency to _smell_ like they’ve been having proper heat sex.

Zhenya wakes up again, not much later, and this time he wakes Sid up before he begins.

“Sid,” Zhenya smacks him on the arm, none too lightly. “Sid, fuck me.”

He groans, and then slips a hand between Zhenya’s cheeks.

“ _Sid_ ,” Zhenya snaps, and Sid grunts. He pushes in with three fingers all at once, and it’s too much to handle. Zhenya comes in mere seconds. Sid pats his ass in a friendly, familiar way, and is back to sleep without having even opened his eyes. It’s such a dick move that Zhenya finds himself smiling despite his irritation.

The next time Zhenya wakes up, it’s because the phone is ringing. Sid answers it before Zhenya can with a fuzzy, “Yeah?” It’s just dawn, blue light spilling in the window.

His heat isn’t demanding at the moment. Zhenya still wants what he wants, but he’ll probably fall back asleep for another hour or so first.

“We’re fine,” Sid says to whoever is on the other end of the line. He pauses to listen, then says, “Probably not. No. I’m—”

It’s someone from the team on the phone, most likely. Sid will get back with the team and fly out of town after breakfast. Well, it was nice of him to stay the night. Zhenya wonders if he can manage to scent Sid again before he goes.

“I’m not going to just leave him,” says Sid. “Look, it’ll be—yeah, I know. Can you just leave my stuff at the front desk? Okay. Okay, thanks. Bye.” He hangs up the phone and plants his face into the pillows.

Maybe hours later, when the sun has risen, Sid wakes Zhenya up when he starts rolling out of bed.

“Geno? I’ll be right back, alright?” He lays a hand on Zhenya’s shoulder.

Zhenya turns over, away from Sid, away from the door. There Sid goes, as expected. Zhenya supposes they’ll catch up again in Pittsburgh.

The door opens, and Sid walks out. Zhenya lets his eyes drift shut. He doesn’t fall asleep.

 

—87—

Sid leaves Geno because his stomach was growling enough to shake him from slumber. He’s beyond hungry, and Geno is probably worse off. Sid decides that he doesn’t want to have room service come to the door and catch a glimpse of Geno, wrung out in bed, naked. So he puts his clothes back on, and goes out the room with a whispered promise of return.

He retrieves his wallet from the reception. He probably smells like Geno, but no one else can recognize the scent except for Sid. It’s pretty likely that anyone who catches the scent would just think he’s taking care of some nice Montréal omega out of the goodness of his heart, and not that he’s letting his teammate drive him wild. It will be a rumor, but not a scandal.

At the hotel’s restaurant, he buys a platter of easy finger-foods: grapes, blackberries, almonds, cubes of cheese, and rolled deli meats. He gets several bottles of water, too, and endures the raised eyebrows when he thanks the kitchen staff in murmuring French.

On the way back to the room, Sid has to stop in the hallway and press his forehead against the wall.

What the hell is he doing?

Sid went with Geno back to the hotel because he was the captain. Then Geno had said a handful of pleading words and Sid fell for it like a house of cards. He shouldn’t be helping Geno this way. Geno was in heat and therefore pretty desperate for relief, but it wasn’t Sid’s job to be that person.

When they were much younger, and Geno was new to Pittsburgh, Sid didn’t even know that Geno was an omega. He smelled neutral—a little bit sour at times, sweet at others—but mostly just like sweat. And once Sid learned that Geno wasn’t a beta, he’d tried to ask through Gonch why Geno was always on suppressants.

He’d received a sharp reproach for even asking. And it wasn’t just Gonch who snapped at him—half the locker room let him know that it was rude. He had backed away as quickly as he could, flaming with embarrassment from stepping over a line he hadn’t even realized was there. As he got older, and started coming into contact with a wider variety of omegas and kept his ears and eyes open, he understood.

Geno was on suppressants because he didn’t want to go through multiple heats for any number of reasons that were _nobody’s_ business but his own. It could be that he didn’t like the feeling, or he didn’t want the attention, or maybe he just didn’t want to have to choose between getting himself off and finding an alpha to help. In any case, it had never been Sid’s place to stick his nose into Geno’s personal issues. He never bothered Geno about it again, and even tried to keep from paying any attention to Geno’s dynamic at all.

Sometimes it was impossible, of course. During his rut, when his heart became tender and fond, he could have an eager omega on their back and somehow find himself thinking about Geno. He’d think of Geno, dripping wet and begging for his knot.

And true, Geno was also a star of his fantasies when he took himself in hand in the shower, squeezing the sensitive place where he’d swell.

It didn’t mean that he could take advantage of Geno when he was vulnerable. He was dripping with the scent of his desperation—like nectar and cream, sweet and intoxicating. Sid had come only once all night, when the flavour of it was slicked on his tongue, thinking that he was needy for _Sid_ and not just as a by-product of biology.

It isn’t fair of him to take whatever he wants from Geno. It’s irresponsible.

He’s resolved, after several minutes of guilt, to drop the food off for Geno and then hop on the next flight out of town.

Sid raps on the door three times as a warning, balancing the platter in one hand, the water bottles tucked under his arm. He plugs the keycard into the door slot and then twists the handle when it beeps.

The rush of scent that hits Sid as he steps inside nearly knocks him over. It’s heavy, sweet, and _sad_. Geno is heartbroken. He’s hurting, even as he writhes in the tangle of sheets, fingers plunged inside himself. Geno is whimpering and shaking as he fucks onto his hand, and Sid drops the platter onto the floor.

The clattering gets Geno’s attention. “Sid,” he says, all out of breath, voice breaking. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers. “You leave me.”

“I said I was coming back,” Sid replies. He starts struggling out of his coat, and it soon joins the platter in a heap.

“Need you.”

“Fuck, okay. Hold on.” Sid at least has the capacity to think that he might need his clothes later, and doesn’t rip them off. He says he’s sorry while he’s hopping on one foot, trying to pry off his shoe. He won’t go away again.

“You go back to Pittsburgh,” Geno accuses.

Sid kicks off his track pants. “I went to get food.”

“Why don’t you fuck me?” Geno asks, face-down and muffled into the sheets. “Why?”

“I will,” says Sid, “I will, just—” He gets on the bed, strokes a hand down Geno’s spine. Geno shudders and then goes still. Sid carefully pulls Geno’s hand away, dripping with slick, and Geno whines. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Geno could twist himself into an elegant pretzel, if he wanted to torture Sid in the weight room for fun. He’s long all over and devastatingly flexible, but right now he’s coiled so tight he’s bound to strain something. Sid pushes Geno gently onto his back and scoots between his legs. Pink splotchy stains are splashed over his cheeks, down his neck, across his chest. He’s beautiful, and Sid doesn’t know how he’s ever held himself back.

Sid nudges Geno’s legs apart, holds one thigh up so he can see. “God,” Sid says, rubbing his thumb against Geno’s hole and slipping right in. “Look at you. You’re so wet. Is that for me?”

“Hurry up,” Geno complains. Sid thinks he might be embarrassed, but he doesn’t need to be—Sid’s never _been_ more enamoured.

“You’re all red. Is it sore? Should I be gentle?”

“Talk later,” Geno gripes, reaching down to palm his cock.

Geno has a great dick. It’s big for an omega. It’s bigger than Sid’s, and curved in a wicked way. He spends a second thinking about how it’d fill Sid up. It would be thick and heavy inside, saved for some kind of special occasion, maybe. A big win. Geno’s cock looks perfect in his hand.

“What? You just watch me all day?”

Sid ignores him. “You’re just gonna give it up to me that easy, eh?”

“Yes.” Geno hooks his free leg around Sid’s hip.

“Do you have condoms?” Sid asks.

Geno groans.

“Is that a no?”

Geno knocks Sid’s hand away and sits up, right in Sid’s lap. He holds Sid’s head in his hands and makes Sid look up into his eyes. His gaze is fiery. His jaw is set. “How can I make more clear? You so stupid, Sid, think I care about every tiny detail. I want you to fuck me. It’s not matter _how_ . You fuck me here, in shower, at home, at rink, outside, upside-down, fast, slow, whatever. I want it _always_ and you _tease me._ Stop, okay? Give me your knot and make me come on it. Not hard to understand.”

Sid’s brain is echoing _always, always_ , and he draws a deep breath.

“Lie down,” he tells Geno. And Geno does, letting go of Sid and dropping all the way back.

Sid wants to do it properly, to taste Geno all over, to find all the secret places he’s sensitive, but he’ll have plenty of time to wind Geno up again—later. So he gets on top of Geno, using his weight to keep Geno still while he kisses his beautiful mouth and Geno tries to slip him some tongue. He rubs his own cock against Geno’s hip, cups Geno’s chest, breathes his scent in.

He doesn’t ask Geno if he’s ready. He parts Geno’s thighs, hikes his legs over Sid’s hips, and when he presses the head of his cock against Geno’s soft, open hole, he starts sinking in.

Inside, Geno is loose and wet and _hot_. Sid slides so easily, and once he’s all the way in, Geno lets out a shaky sigh.

“Good?” Sid asks, and from this angle he can’t quite reach Geno’s mouth. He mouths at the side of Geno’s neck instead. Geno is the perfect height.

Geno hums in the affirmative, then rocks into the cradle of Sid’s hips.

Sid takes that as encouragement, and starts thrusting in and out, measured and shallow. He feels— _so_ fucking amazing. Geno is so obviously eager and it makes Sid want to try harder. Last night, Geno was moaning, and Sid can definitely get him to do it again.

He speeds his thrusts and angles them until Geno jolts against him.

“There?” he asks. Geno nods, and whines when Sid pushes for the same spot again.

Geno starts clinging to him, his rim tightening as Sid thrusts faster. Sid sucks at Geno’s pulse, rubs his face against it, and Geno moans lowly. “Please.”

Sid’s heart jumps in his chest. He wants to claim and keep. Geno would look amazing with Sid’s mark, always showing above his collar. Sid could keep him satisfied. Sid could keep him happy. Sid could fill him right to the brim.

“Can I come in you?” Sid asks. Geno pulses around him. Sid sucks hard at Geno’s throat, pulling a moan from Geno that buzzes against his lips. Soon Sid’s knot will swell, and he wants Geno to lock onto him. “Please, Geno. Let me knot you.”

“Yes,” Geno says. “Do it.”

Sid hunches his hips. Geno wraps his long legs around Sid’s waist, his arms around Sid’s ribs, a climbing vine with his fingers clutching for purchase on Sid’s overheated skin. “Can I? Can I have you?”

“You can,” Geno says, clinging tighter.

“Will you let me?”

“Sid,” huffs Geno with impatience, “always. Whatever you want.”

He pleads with Geno, begging over and over again until finally his knot catches and he can’t ask anymore. Sid grinds his hips, tastes Geno’s thickening scent, and then for long time, Sid is floating on pure sensation. Pleasure blooms over his whole body—all the places where he and Geno are touching, and deeper than his bones. He’s made of sparks.

Awareness returns to him in pieces. Geno is under him, wet and hot, chest heaving and hips stilled. Sid blinks, groans, and tries to ease himself up. He never loses his mind like that when he comes, not even during a rut. He gets his elbows underneath him, and then he sees it: an uneven circle of red-purple teeth marks.

A claiming bite.

Sid touches the edges of it, and Geno flinches. “Fuck. Geno—”

“Don’t say sorry,” Geno grunts, and then gasps.

“But I hurt you,” Sid argues. He bit Geno and knotted him and then crushed him into the bed.

Geno slaps Sid on the back, hard. “Stop!”

“Ow!”

“I _want_ you to mate me,” Geno says. “It’s good hurt. Fuck you—I’m not baby omega. Look at me, Sid.”

Sid glances up. Geno is blushing and there are tears tracked down his cheeks, but he’s smiling. “You sure?”

“Yes. Don’t ask again.” Geno glowers at him. “Now you make me come again so I can break heat fast.”

Locked together the way they are, Sid can’t get a good grip on Geno’s cock. He rubs Geno’s nipples instead. He seems to like that, and arches his chest against Sid the same way he did last night. Sid takes the time to examine his claim, making sure that Geno isn’t cut and that Sid’s only bruised him.

“How long your knot last?”

It could be ten minutes, or it could be half an hour. Sid had never mated before—it could last longer. “I don’t know,” he says.

Geno squeezes around him when Sid pinches Geno’s nipples. It’s not usually Sid’s thing, but Geno seems to be really enjoying it. Sid leans back in and kisses Geno until he’s moaning into Sid’s mouth and spilling between them.

They just lie there for a moment, breathing heavy. Sid tries to balance some of his weight in his hands and knees. His knot is still throbbing inside Geno.

“You come again?” Geno asks, stretching his legs as best as he can from this position. Sid feels Geno rotate his ankles against his back, and they crackle as he does.

“Not yet,” Sid admits, but he _can_. He has a few times before, though never inside someone. It’s always been when he squeezed his knot in his fist and jacked off with his other hand—thinking of Geno’s perfect round ass, or the way his eyes light up, or how he sets his jaw and smirks after chirping Sid.

Geno hums. “Okay. You do.”

“Yeah, but—”

Geno curls his body, forcing himself up, abs shaking. The angle puts weight on Sid’s knot, drives up the pressure. Geno presses Sid’s head between his hands and kisses him. It lasts for all of six wonderful seconds before Geno gasps and falls back the few inches to the bed. “No stamina,” he complains.

It occurs to Sid that if Geno had kept kissing him, he probably could’ve come eventually. Geno kisses like he’s got something to prove, and he has full lips, and Sid hasn’t contemplated the idea enough. Sid traces the scar that sits high on Geno’s cheekbone. Geno leans into the touch.

He pecks the heel of Sid’s hand, then looks at him and says, “So? Fill me, Sid. I’m not done yet.”

Sid groans. He has no room to work with, but he can rock and grind. Geno clenches down on him with no particular rhythm, and sucks Sid’s fingers into his mouth. “Fuck, Geno,” he cries as Geno starts sliding his hands over Sid’s skin.

“Deeper,” Geno demands as he scratches between his shoulder blades. “ _Harder_.”

“I can’t!” Sid cries. He’s as deep as he’ll get.

Geno digs his nails into his back, sharp pricks of pain that Sid can’t get away from. Then Geno guides him by the back of his head to the mark he made. “Go ahead. It’s fine—I like it.”

Sid can’t help the restless twitch of his hips as he puts his mouth on Geno’s hot neck, his knot tugging on Geno’s rim. He’s quaking, and every shift sends rivers of urgency through him. It’s a mixed message, telling him that Geno is safely his, and telling him that he needs to bring Geno closer. One second he’s mouthing at Geno, and the next, he finds himself biting again.

Geno shouts, and clutches at the back of Sid’s head, fingers twined into his hair, reining him in right where he needs it.

The second time Sid comes, he’s far more aware of himself. He clings with all his strength, Geno’s blood pulsing against his tongue, and empties himself inside. He’s overheated—they both are. He thinks of caramels in the summer, sticky and messy and sweet.

When Sid comes down from it, he thinks that Geno must be cramping pretty bad. It’ll be another several minutes until his knot shrinks enough to pull out.

“How’s your ass?” Sid asks.

Geno gives him a weird look. “Fucking best ever.”

Sid can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or sarcasm. He reaches underneath to prod at Geno’s hole, only to be slapped away. There’s only slick on Sid’s hand, so he figures at least there’s probably no serious damage.

“I’m going to help you stretch, okay?” He doesn’t ask Geno to tell him if something hurts. He’s never been shy about griping over muscle pain before.

He starts with Geno’s legs. It’s an awkward angle at first, reaching behind himself for Geno’s ankle, but then he’s got a hand on it and Geno lets himself be moved. Sid unwraps Geno’s left leg and pulls it around. Geno hisses and his rim is pulling at the base of Sid’s cock, so he goes slower and braces a hand at the crease of Geno’s hip. Bit by bit, he stretches Geno’s leg out to the side while the other one stays bent against Sid’s lower back. Then he pushes it up, towards Geno’s chest, holds it for a few seconds while Geno winces.  He lowers the left leg back down onto the bed, resting by Sid’s thigh, and then repeats the process with the right.

That done, he takes hold of both Geno’s calves and presses them up towards Geno’s chest. Geno is heavy, and awkward to move. Sid has to shift up with him as he bends. Then Geno gasps, his thighs shaking.

“Too much?” Sid asks, shifting his balance to pull Geno back down.

“Feels good,” Geno sighs. “Like, deeper, more.”

Geno is a fucking marvel. “Are you gonna come again?”

“If you touch me. Can reach now?” And Sid tries, resting Geno’s leg on his shoulder and reaching in towards Geno’s cock. It’s not the most comfortable angle, but Sid can get his hand around Geno well enough.

“Like that?”

“Just do normal,” Geno says. Sid jerks Geno’s cock, the half of it that he can grip. “Yeah.”

Sid jacks Geno off, legs up in the air, and it takes no time at all for Geno to come, groaning softly. He spurts into Sid’s hand.

“Is that good?” Sid asks as he lowers Geno’s legs. Geno’s ass is half in his lap now, even though they’re still tied. He licks some of Geno’s come off his hand because Geno came down his throat last time. It tastes a bit like Geno’s slick, but not enough that he wants the rest of it. He wipes it on the sheets.

Geno tilts his head back. His throat is all marked up. Sid did that. “Probably can go again.”

Sid looks at Geno’s spent form. “Really?”

Geno glares. “In _heat_ , Sid. You think you have wonder-dick cure?”

A laugh bursts out of Sid. He covers it up by leaning back over Geno and trying to get Geno to stretch out his arms. “You like my wonder dick.”

Sid squeezes the lean muscles of Geno’s arms, rubs his stomach, and for his own purposes, feels up Geno’s sides. He thinks about how much he adores Geno’s love handles and says absolutely nothing about them. He keeps his flattery about their endearing softness to himself.

It takes about fifteen minutes for his knot to recede. Geno dozes as Sid attempts to subtly feel every weird, powerful, charming part of him. Then he starts backing out. Geno clenches one last time before letting go, and Sid slips out of him.

Geno rolls onto his stomach right away, and spreads out like a starfish. Sid watches out for sprawling legs, and then sits cross-legged to inspect the damage. He wouldn’t want to have injured the best ass in the league. Geno’s ass is round, and pink, and firm, and tacky with dried slick. “Just wanna make sure it’s all good back here,” Sid murmurs as he presses Geno’s cheeks apart.

“I’m all fine,” Geno grumbles. “Don’t worry.”

Geno’s hole is red and swollen, a mess of his own slick and Sid’s come. Sure, it looks hot as _fuck_ and Sid wants to plant his face right there, but it also looks painful. Geno might be floating on a cocktail of heat hormones right now, but he’ll regret it later if Sid doesn’t help him take care of it. Sid pats Geno’s thigh and then gets up for the bathroom.

His legs are unstable as he wobbles there, but he doesn’t lean against the door frame, even as he stumbles. There’s a variety of available towels, but Sid goes for the smallest. He tests the tap until the water is on the cooler side of warm. When he looks in the mirror as he squeezes the cloth, his eyes are wide and wild. His hair is a raked disaster. Sid looks like he’s been fucked well, and he feels it, too.

Geno hasn’t moved a muscle when Sid gets back to the bed. It makes it easy for Sid to clean up. He wipes the inside of Geno’s legs, behind his balls, and up to his hole. He gets an unsubtle squeeze in while he rubs the cloth over Geno’s ass. Geno shifts onto his side and takes the cloth from Sid, wiping up his cock and stomach. Sid rinses the cloth out and comes back to dab at Geno’s neck, and then as an afterthought, cleans his own cock.

“Hungry,” Geno complains, and Sid remembers his platter of food.

He retrieves it from the floor, dusting off a few grapes that escaped when the lid popped off as it clattered to the ground. Sid encourages Geno to sit up a bit, and picks things for Geno to eat. He eats the rolled meat whole, shoving them into his mouth and barely chewing before he swallows. When they get to the grapes, Geno eats with a little more tact.

Sid eats too, and they pass one of the water bottles back and forth, taking turns after Geno gulps half of it in one go. Together, they pick the platter clean. Sid even thinks about eating the parsley garnish. He’ll have to go get food again soon, but he’s not in a rush.

Geno shoves the empty platter off the bed. He takes Sid’s hand and lays it over the mark. “We nap now,” he says.

Well, Sid is pretty damn tired. He can’t argue with that.

It’s probably mid-afternoon when Geno shakes him awake. He’s sweating and shivering, and before Sid is even fully aware of what’s happening, Geno crawls into his lap.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” he begs, but Sid isn’t hard yet.

Sid rubs over Geno’s hole, and he’s sopping wet again, letting Sid sink in with two.

“No,” Geno smacks Sid’s chest with an open palm, “ _fuck me_.”

“You have to wait,” because Sid is too old for his dick to just work on command. Geno hits him again in the same place. “Jeez! I will, just be fucking patient for once.”

Geno is patchy red all over. “I wait forever.”

“I _just_ came in you.”

“Not enough. I’m all empty now.” Geno claws at Sid’s sides. “I’m done wait.”

The arguing is kind of doing it for Sid, though. He cups his balls with his free hand. “God, you’re so needy.”

“Yes, needy. Need your dick, Sid, or is too much work for you? You lazy?” Geno smirks and grinds on Sid’s fingers. “Lazy alpha just let his omega do it all?”

“I don’t knot on _demand_ , Geno, just hold the fuck on.” But he’s more than halfway hard now, and he’d be mad about it if it wasn’t hot as hell. Geno really knows how to make Sid rise to the occasion.

“It’s fine, I take care of you.” Geno takes Sid’s cock, lines it up, and starts sinking down on it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Sid tries to object, but Geno won’t be deterred. He slides all the way onto Sid’s dick.

Geno rides him with an energy that is baffling. He rolls his hips in unending undulations, and won’t let Sid do anything about it. Sid tries to get his hand on Geno’s cock and Geno responds by pinning his wrists to the bed. He stares down at Sid from above, challenging, daring.

He comes on Sid’s dick, moaning low and long, and not even that stops him.

But some few minutes later, it’s like the strings are cut, and Geno slows and collapses on top of Sid. Sid feels Geno’s forehead, and his fever is gone. The heat has broken, for the most part.

“What do you want me to do?” Sid asks. He kisses Geno’s temple.

“Finish,” Geno mumbles, “inside me. Please.”

Sid kisses him again and pushes Geno onto his side. He spoons up behind Geno, and presses back in. He keeps his thrusts shallow and unhurried. It’d be easier to just pull out and let himself go soft, but he won’t deny Geno. So he stares at the mark, two uneven circles, mottled purple and red from Sid’s mouth. It’s the thought of how long the mark will last, how Geno won’t be able to hide it, that sends Sid over. He thinks of Geno shouting down the bench with Sid’s mark on his neck, and comes.

He rearranges Geno so they’re more comfortable. At some point, all but one of the pillows had been sent off the side of the bed. Sid gives the remaining one to Geno.

 

—71—

The sun is setting, casting long shadows in the golden glow of his hotel room, and Zhenya feels like he’s been run over by a truck. A sexy truck with a big knot, perhaps, but he’s definitely been flattened.

“We need to talk about this,” Sid says.

And now the sexy truck wants to talk about feelings.

“I’m serious, Geno,” says Sid when Zhenya groans pathetically.

Sid always wants to talk about things—what he had for dinner, and the power play, and some dumb documentary he saw, and his lake house, and hockey equipment he’ll never exchange for what he’s already got. He won’t ever shut up, and Zhenya kind of loves that about him, but not right now.

Zhenya has too many emotions to translate, even if he knew how to express them in his mother tongue in the first place. He doesn’t know what he wants.

The fact is that Sid mated him. There’s some buried and gnarled part of him that is so incredibly satisfied by it. The twisted bits that have pined for Sid for years delight in the fact that Sid bit and claimed him.

A bigger part of him doubts that it can last. As far as he knows, Sid has never mated with anyone before. Sid doesn’t do repeat performances often. Zhenya is definitely sure that Sid doesn’t fuck teammates. He’d always hoped that he’d be Sid’s exception, but he wanted it to be something that Sid asked him for, not a favour for a friend in dire need.

And Zhenya shouldn’t want Sid the way he does.

He can’t help how possessive he feels over Sid. He can’t help backing him up on the ice, and wanting his attention, and being jealous of all his other interests. It’s ugly, but he still feels it.

Sid sighs heavily, evidently tired of waiting for Zhenya’s reply. “We can break the mating bond, if you want. It probably won’t work until the summer, but—”

“No,” Zhenya finds himself saying.

Zhenya looks over, and Sid is staring at him. Good. It’s nice to surprise Sid sometimes. He’s usually so fucking observant. “We can’t stay _mated_ ,” he gasps.

“Sure we can,” says Zhenya. “Why not?”

Sid splutters, and it’s really gratifying to watch his face go red. “We didn’t discuss this at all. It’s—mating is a big deal.”

“We discuss now.” Zhenya’s heart makes the choice, but some of his best decisions had been made that way. He wasn’t going to back out now; he wants to stay with Sid. It feels right.

“You’re not thinking this through.”

“Am.”

“No, Geno, it’s a _big deal_ —”

“Why you’re always treat me like I don’t know?” Zhenya snaps. “I know what I want. It’s not just omega shit, okay? I want be mate with you. If _you_ don’t want, then fine, but _I want_.”

Sid closes his eyes. He drags a hand down his face and sniffs. “You need space. I’m going to go get some more food and you can think it through while I’m out.”

Zhenya watches him dress, completely irritated, temples throbbing, arms crossed in bed. Sid wouldn’t let go of an idea once it was in his head. He was stubborn just like Zhenya, and some days he was _worse_ than Zhenya. His stubbornness was usually a battle Zhenya would inevitably let him win, but not today.

“And I’m not going back to Pittsburgh,” Sid barks as he shoves his arms into his coat, “so chill out.”

“I _am_ chill,” Zhenya says, but Sid is already out the door.

Is it a horrible decision that’ll cause unnecessary hardship for themselves and everyone they know? Yeah. Probably.

It’ll fuck with their chemistry. It will create all kinds of PR complications. They’ll probably have to move in together. Zhenya will have to spend a lot of time in Cole Harbor. He’ll have to tell his parents. They’ll bicker—they’ll be angry with each other often. There will be endless paperwork and maybe Sid will never give another dynamic-free interview again.

Everything will change once they leave the hotel anyways. Zhenya just wants to choose the version of his future where he gets to have Sid.

He wants to meet all of Sid’s fifty hometown friends. He wants to hyphenate their names. He wants to have children, and a dog, and a cat. He wants big family dinners where Zhenya has to act as clumsy translator. He wants to wake up with Sid every morning. They can combine their superstitions, and Sid can stretch out Zhenya’s sweaters, and Zhenya can stop looking at his career like it’s the only thing he has left. It will be hard, but it will be _worth it_.

Zhenya gets up and knocks some stuff around to make himself feel better. He throws the pillows back on the bed with as much force as he can manage. He smacks the platter onto the table. He kicks his overnight bag.

He puts on clean underwear without showering off his heat scent because he wants Sid to have to face what they’ve done.

And then Sid is taking too long, so Zhenya also plugs in his phone, brushes his teeth, pokes at Sid’s mark in the bathroom mirror, and eventually just puts on the TV. He surfs restlessly because he can’t focus, and at this time of day it’s mostly just the news anyways.

Just after six, the door beeps and Sid comes in. He has a big brown McDonald’s bag and a cardboard tray stacked with cups.

“It’s because it’s like marriage,” Sid says as he places his offerings on the table. “Mating,” he toes off his shoes, sits on the bed next to Zhenya, “is basically like getting married.”

The thought makes Zhenya’s heart jump right into his throat. “You think I don’t want marry you?”

“I didn’t give you a choice. I just took it from you.” Sid stares at his hands entwined in his lap, eyebrows drawn down, still wearing that awful swiss cheese of a shirt. What a self-sacrificing dickbag. He’d shoulder all the blame in the world. Zhenya was so in love with him.

“Sid, I’m say yes if you ask before,” Zhenya says. “My answer is same.”

Sid jerks his head up. Oh, good. Finally. “Wait, you’d marry me?”

Zhenya rolls his eyes, “Yeah.”

“We’ve never even—” Sid shakes himself, and a tiny smile shows appears. It’s so hopeful that Zhenya almost has to pinch himself. “We’ve never even kissed before.”

Zhenya shrugs. “Lots to catch up, I guess, but we work real hard. Give hundred and ten percent.”

Sid is grinning now. “Shut up,” he laughs.

“Make me,” Zhenya retorts, and Sid does.

As much as Zhenya likes the way Sid kisses him, he doesn’t have the patience for the lifetime it’ll take to work him up to anything passionate. He pushes Sid away before he can get lost in Sid’s gentleness.

“You bring me McDonald’s?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sid says, and kisses Zhenya on the cheek, because apparently he can’t help being sweet.

“With milkshake?”

“Two.”

Zhenya holds Sid’s face in his hands, and tells him with as much sincerity as he can bear without cracking up: “I love you.”

Sid smirks, eyes so bright, cheeks pink. “You love me because I bought you milkshakes?”

“Yes,” says Zhenya. “My favourite.”


End file.
